A Yuletide Reading
by Aearwen22
Summary: These are drabbles written for the Here And Back Again Advent Calendar 2009 challenge, using one of the Major Arcana cards from the Tarot to evoke an archetype. 100 or 200 words exactly, no matter what FFN says. Dec 27 - 24: Judgment & 25: The World
1. 1: The Fool

He walked.

He walked because he had left his horse behind in Imladris, along with his hopes and dreams.

Where he was headed, he was neither certain nor really cared. "King of both Gondor and Arnor", was it? When all he owned was shoved into a small pack that barely weighed him down, or hung at his waist in case of danger? When his "heritage" was metal scraps and a ring?

Once he had thought to be Imladhrim. Then he had thought to be Dúnedain. Eventually he'd hoped to be husband.

And now, nothing.

This direction seemed a good one…


	2. 2: The Magician

"You need this more than I do."

Olórin stared, flabbergasted, as the Shipwright slipped the ring onto his finger.

"What will I do with this?" he asked, unnerved to feel the pulse of power surge up his arm. "What is this thing?"

"I fear for Ennor," Círdan replied softly. "Narya holds within it the power of Fire. I would that you have all the tools at your command as might win the battle against the Enemy."

Armed with that, a deceptively crooked staff, and a ridiculously large blue hat, the wizard took his first steps in Middle-earth toward his destiny.


	3. 3: The High Priestess

She led them down stairs cut into the living rock and then to a carven pedestal, into which was set a metal basin reflecting darkness and stars.

Then the ewer tipped, held steady by dainty and powerful hands; and into the basin flowed fresh, clean water. Now even the leaves overhead could be seen in the clear reflection.

Both hobbits found their eyes drawn to the figure that had led them there. The beauty that glimmered and glistened in the soft light of Eärendil gazed back.

"This is the mirror of Galadriel. You may look in it, if you will."

_**A/N:**__ Quotation taken from __The Fellowship of the Ring__: The Mirror of Galadriel._


	4. 4: The Empress

It was a tradition that she really didn't understand at all. Of what benefit was riding slowly down and then back up the main streets of the White City, going nowhere but back into the Citadel courtyard? It was a noisy process, long and tiring.

Then a woman darted out of the crowd that lined the street and placed flowers in her hands. The light in that woman's face suddenly made things plain.

In that moment, Arwen realized she was more than just Queen, or Estel's wife. She now represented these people's hope for the future, and their children's future.


	5. 5: The Emperor

Gimli had seen all sorts of Elves since leaving his home in the Lonely Mountain, and heard many stories from his father about the one he gazed on now.

His hair was a rich and deep gold that gleamed in the candlelight, and his head wreathed with green leaves and fresh flowers. Green eyes shone like glittering emeralds beneath brows arched in surprise at yet another Dwarf in his Halls.

There was a feeling of action just waiting to burst loose about this Elf. Yes, Gimli had seen High Elves before, ancient, powerful, wise. But this – _this_ –was the Elvenking.


	6. 6: When Archetypes Meet

"You want me to _what_?"

Aragorn flinched but didn't look away. "Mithrandir said he would be here as soon as possible to interrogate him. Please."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. The Dúnadan was exhausted and in sore need of rest, and although relations had never been cordial between him and Elrond, he would not withhold his aid.

But _this_? To hold such a twisted creature in his realm, no matter it being the request of Mithrandir, was asking much.

"He shall go to the dungeons," Thranduil sighed, "until Mithrandir comes."

"Thank you…"

"This is a mistake," Thranduil breathed. "I just know it."


	7. 7: The Hierophant

For this day, Elrond had remained in Middle-earth, enduring centuries almost beyond his own strength. Only two tasks lay before him today - one a joy, the other a mortal blow - and yet, by the end of this day, his endurance would be exhausted.

Over a thousand years he had held the Staff of Annúminas in trust for the return of the rightful King; today it would be given to such a King. Generations of men had he taught, trained, nurtured, and even succored in old age. Today, that burden was lifted from him forever.

And thirty years ago, he had set forth the terms by which his precious daughter could be claimed as wife; today he would acknowledge the terms met. A virtually impossible task he had set forth as the price of his agreement; and that high and unbelievable price had been paid. He had said he would yield his daughter only to a King of both Gondor and Arnor. The moment he handed over the Staff of Annúminas, that will have been accomplished.

But all he could see were the Ages he would live with her absence, gone to a man who still called him "_Ada_."


	8. 8: The Lovers

"Yes."

He stared at her, as if seeing her for the very first time, hardly daring to believe his ears.

So many times, in the long year of the Quest, he had cast his mind back to think of her, to take courage from the thought that he was protecting her as much as anything else. Even if he never saw her again, to know that his life had been spent in assuring hers.

A gentle breeze lifted her hair from her glowing eyes. Did he dare?

His heart pounding in his chest, Sam kissed Rosie for the first time.


	9. 9: The Chariot

Boromir closed his eyes briefly and breathed through his nose while counting to ten to keep from bursting out angrily to stop yet another hobbit-inspired argument about food. Was that all those little people ever thought about – filling their bellies?

He'd agreed to go along with this futile venture only because it gave him companionship at least part of the way home. And it gave him time to consider whether it was in Gondor's best interests to let a sad-eyed Halfling remain in control of the long-lost weapon of the Enemy. Was it?

He knew what his father would say.


	10. 10: Justice

Erestor hesitated as he prepared to don his black robe.

There had been a time when he preferred lighter colors, when his mind was less fettered by the duties that were so necessary for the wellbeing of all Middle-earth; when he laughed.

He still laughed; nobody usually heard it, but it happened nonetheless. But Elrond needs his keen wit and eidetic memory focused on the intelligence that poured into Imladris from all corners of Arda Marred, Estel needs his lessons, and he needs his armor.

Now black suits him all too well. It was time to head to the library.


	11. 11: The Hermit

Of all of the things in his life, only the sea never changed.

He'd seen empires rise and fall, cities built only to fall into ruin. And the lives of those around him, so mortal and ephemeral, had become a blur.

But the sea never stopped washing the beaches, never stopped showing him a new mood or color from one day to the next. Never stopped being the one impenetrable barrier between himself and all he loved.

Maglor seated himself on a rock and drew out his harp to sing a sad greeting to the newest morning of his exile.


	12. 12: The Wheel of Fortune

My, but his head hurt!

Bilbo grunted shoved at the damp rock beneath him, and then found the fingers of his other hand digging through loose, wet grit. He was about to push himself up to sit when those digging fingers found something else. Something small. Something smooth. Something round.

A ring.

Without a thought, he picked it up, wiped away the clinging dirt, and shoved it into his pocket. Time enough to see what he'd discovered when he was safe and warm and dry and had light. Right now, he needed to focus on not getting caught by goblins.


	13. 13: When Archetypes Fight

"I love him, _Adar._"

"Do you not also love your _Naneth_? Do you care so little about her that you would renounce all hope of seeing her healed and whole again?"

"_Adar_, what I renounce are the long-years of searching and waiting for that one voice that would set my heart to beating faster. You have loved, surely you understand!"

"I only understand that you are turning away from those of us who love you dearly and have cared for you over the centuries."

She leaned into him. "Can you not be happy for me, _Adar_?"

Elrond couldn't answer her.


	14. 14: Strength

The last, echo of hooves had barely receded from the Golden Wood, and already much of the life that had nurtured this place for so long was fading.

Celeborn knew they were watching him, those who, like him, didn't feel the pull of the sea yet, waiting to see what he would do now that his Lady had departed. And as much as he wanted to run howling into the wilds beyond the Celebrant, to find silence and solitude in which to make peace with his loss, he dared not.

His people still needed him. He could not fail them.


	15. 15: The Hanged Man

Gollum spat the finger out and held aloft the Precious. After all this time, after that sneaky Baggins with wanting to know what was in his pocketses, and those nasty orcses with their whips and cruel laughs and endless questions, and following the Master and that other, stupid hobbit all the way back into blackest Mordor, the Precious was _his_ again!

The slippery, reaching hands of the Master were easily enough evaded, and with a slip of the foot, once more Gollum felt himself flying, falling. This time, however, he knew that he would never lose the Precious again.

Never.


	16. 16: Death

Frodo stood at the stern of the ship, watching the land slowly vanish.

He hadn't expected to come home from that blasted Quest at all, and he'd been correct. The Shire, still populated by the same people he had known since faunthood, had changed during his absence; he had seen too much. The Shire wasn't home anymore, and it hurt too much to pretend. So, when the time came, he simply turned everything over to Sam and joined the Elves heading to the sea.

Bilbo called this another adventure, but Frodo had no illusions. He was losing everything, at last.


	17. 17: Temperance

The ship took an agonizingly long time to arrive.

Celebrían had been at the dock since dawn, not wanting to have to stand behind others while the new arrivals debarked. She had waited for this day for so long, and even despaired that she would see him step from a ship at all.

One Elf after another walked down the plank and into waiting arms, or to wander half-lost about the dock. Mithrandir gently herded two of the Shirefolk ahead of him, seeming to know exactly where he was taking them. And then her mother was on the dock and in her arms, so diminished, so beaten, so weary. Soon enough she surrendered Galadriel to the waiting arms of her grandfather.

Still Celebrían waited, and then finally saw the one she sought. Her eyes were for only one: for Elrond. As tired and worn as her mother, he nearly stumbled getting onto the gangplank. But he had taken but two steps onto the dock before she had him in her arms.

He had healed her body back in Ennor; and centuries since in Lórien had healed her mind, But finally her heart was whole again. Now _she_ would heal _him_.


	18. 18: The Devil

Denethor locked the door to the tower room, dropped the halves of the Horn of Gondor and sidled over to the stone pedestal. Beneath a cloth lay all the answers to all of his questions, he was certain. It had never failed him, not once.

But the things he saw now were nearly unbearable. Gondor couldn't survive what was coming at her, and his son… If Boromir hadn't been able to survive, there was no hope for any of them.

And still his fingers reached out to draw the cloth away. He couldn't bear to watch, or to turn away.


	19. 19: The Tower

**BOOM!**

All of Minas Tirith shook this time, and watchers on the walls scrambled down to bring word of the terrible device that had been brought into play. This was no ordinary ram, powered by men or orcs; this one was huge, suspended from a frame and requiring cave trolls to move.

**BOOM!**

Any hope of outlasting the siege was just about gone. An hour of this horrific pounding, and already the massive crossbeams of the great gate were giving.

**BOOM!**

Beyond the gates, the armies roared as the gates gave again. They would not hold much longer.

**BOOM!**

_**CRASH!**_


	20. 20: When Archetypes Love

It was a dance, one they must have danced many times before, and still fascinating to watch.

She would move away from the center of the celebration, and very little time would pass before he would follow her. Silver and gold would stand close, commenting very quietly on this and that, present and yet apart.

At some point, he would wrap one of those long, golden tendrils around his finger, and she would lean into him, hand on his chest. Eventually, they would vanish.

Lord and Lady of Lothlórien they might be, but when alone together, they were as one.


	21. 21: The Star

Once upon a time, this valley was green and fertile. Centuries of ash and smoke had turned it into a wasteland that now bore the scars of Orodruin's death throes.

And yet, here and there, hardy plants more stubborn than the Dark Lord himself still clung to life. Yavanna bent and watered each with a blessing, and watched them one by one lift their faces to the now-clear skies.

She would have to send Radagast to bring more seed to restore the land. The Secondborn would never have to know that she'd come to make sure the valley flourished again.


	22. 22: The Moon

From the top of his tower, he looked down upon the armies that he had amassed. And soon, he would have the Halflings in his grasp, and with them, the One Ring.

Then he would finally be able to do what he and the others of his order had been tasked to accomplish. With the One Ring in _his_ possession, nothing could stop him, and even Sauron himself would have to bow to Orthanc.

There had been enough of Councils, enough half-measures. Elrond, Galadriel and Olórin were fools. Soon enough, all of Middle-earth would bow to _him_: Saruman the White!


	23. 23: The Sun

Aragorn felt his burdens suddenly lighten as he recognized the sounds of those silver bells. As weary as he had been, his heels were light as he sprang through the heather toward the gentle tinkling. Never had he been so glad to hear the approach of the rider that had found them.

The hood of the cloak had been caught back by a breeze, and with golden hair streaming, the Elf seemed a veritable burst of sunshine astride a gleaming white stallion.

At last Glorfindel's voice carried on the wind, fair as the dawn: "_Ai, na vedui, Dúnadan! Mae govannen!_"


	24. 24: Judgment

It didn't matter that she was acclaimed, renowned, or that she had done what no man could have. Only this mattered to her now.

She had abandoned her people that her uncle had placed in her care, left them to ride to what she had thought would be ruin and death, certain she wouldn't survive the struggle.

Now, her uncle was dead. Her brother had become King of the Mark. The Dark Lord had been overthrown. Aragorn lived, and would now wed his Elven bride.

Éowyn leaned her head into Faramir's shoulder. Maybe survival wouldn't be so bad after all.


	25. 25: The World

Merry sat back after putting a light to the Longbottom Leaf in his pipe, and puffed away contentedly.

Life was good. He had his Estella and his children, Pip had Diamond and was awaiting the birth of his first. He could hear Pip hovering over a very pregnant Diamond, while Rose, the matriarch of them all, offered calm advice.

He looked across the room at Sam, puffing on a pipe and reading to three wide-eyed little ones from the Big Red Book that Frodo had left.

This is why they'd done it. He had no regrets. His world was safe.


End file.
